fandomhigh | Summer Picnic, Main Campfire, Friday afternoon

Entry tags:

!event: friday events

Summer Picnic, Main Campfire, Friday afternoon

At lunchtime, the campfire area was set up with blankets, baskets, picnic tables, food, and ant problems. The groundskeeper who brought the ants was later sent home for the rest of the day. It turned out that he didn't really like picnics.

[OOC: I suck and completely forgot about this. Sorry about the relative lateness. It's a sunny and fairly comfortable day. I MOD WEATHER! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!]

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"We couldn't have that," Peter said, giving her a hug. "Then I'd be horribly sad. I might even be forced to write poetry."

Willow gasped even as she hugged him back. "No! Not poetry! That would take away time you could be practicing your sword!"

"It would be more likely take away time from sleeping," Peter said, honestly. "Or maybe eating. But still, I don't think I should inflict that upon the world."

Willow snickered and kissed him on the cheek. "Well, I can't have my knight missing food and sleep. I'll have to spend more time with him then so he's not induced to sonnets."

"Or worse, villanelles," Peter laughed. "You never know what forms of poetical strangeness might occur."

"Just as long as you aren't inclined to limericks," Willow replied. "I know all the words that rhyme with my name and they are right out. Mostly due to issues of context."

"See, and now I'm trying to think of all the words that rhyme with Willow," Peter said.

"If you enjoyed vocabulary tests this wouldn't be so difficult for you," Willow replied with a grin.

"You take rhyming vocabulary tests?" Peter asked.

"They could exist," Willow replied. "It's not like you'd know."

"Very well then, three things that rhyme with Britain," Peter challenged.

"Am I being graded?" Willow replied. She took a seat.

Peter sat down beside her. "Certainly. You either know it or you don't," he said with a grin.

"And if I know it?" Willow replied. "What do I get? I don't just give my smartiness away to just anybody."

"I think you can't think of any, and you're trying to stall for time," Peter accused, snickering.

"I so can!" Willow said. "I just want a gold star, or an A, or a kiss."

"One for each rhyme then," Peter replied.

"Oo, I like that," Willow said. She sat up with good posture, as though talking in front of a teacher. "Okay. Three words that rhyme with Britain: Bitten. Kitten. And - " she grinned. "Smitten."

"Funnily enough, I had that last one too in my list," Peter said, grinning. He clasped his hands in front of him. "I hereby award you three gold stars."

"Did you really?" Willow grinned. She held out her hand for her stars.

"I can't give them to you yet," Peter said, slipping his hand into hers. "We have to wait until they come out. But yes, my other two were mitten and written."

"Also good choices," Willow said. She tugged his hand closer so she could give it a kiss. "I'm a Sunnydale girl. Things involving teeth tend to be more in the forefront. Plus kittens are just so cute!"

Peter smiled at hand kiss and leaned over to brush her lips with his. "And I owe you two more."

Willow nuzzled his cheek, smiling. "You do. I'm going to hold you to that, too. I'm very stubborn when it comes to my grades."

"I'm going to try out my new hobby," Peter replied. "And not even begin to think of arguing with you about that."

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